


A Different Path

by Oricalle



Category: Fire Emblem Heroes, Fire Emblem Series
Genre: Book 2 Spoilers, Canon divergence (?), Canon-Typical Violence, F/F, Past Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-05
Updated: 2020-11-09
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:00:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27408457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oricalle/pseuds/Oricalle
Summary: In the snowy wilds of Nifl, a hostage of the Order of Heroes, Laegjarn is brought to make a choice.This time, she takes action.
Relationships: Gunnthrá/Laegjarn (Fire Emblem)
Comments: 11
Kudos: 13





	1. Chapter 1

The wood rumbles gently beneath Laegjarn’s feet as the carriage rumbles forward. The orange glow of a Niflian sunset shines brightly through the windows, pooling gently into sunbeams that crisscross the planks below. Ahead of her, a broad-shouldered swordsman leans from his bench seat into the light, closing his cloak around him as he tries to fight off the coming cold. As her ears burn from the chill, she’s tempted to try the same tactic.

That said, it will be difficult, given that both of her wrists are tied to a hook on the wall.

She cannot quite remember how long she’s been a captive of the Order of Heroes. Struck down in battle, expecting her shame to end in death, only to find that the Princess of Nifl wants her alive.

Near the front of the carriage, a man calls out.

“Catria says we’re close to a cavern. We can use it for tonight’s shelter, everyone prepare to set up camp!”

Alfonse of Askr, she was told, was a weak excuse for a ruler, no match for her battlefield prowess. As the Heroes aboard the carriage rush to follow his orders, she reflects on how incorrect that was.

Perhaps the Prince is not a born fighter, not like her or her sister, but the respect he commands of his summoned allies is a more formidable weapon than any steel a warrior can wield.

As he walks towards the back of the carriage, their eyes meet.

He nods.

She does not respond.

When the carriage stops, and the Order departs to make camp, Laegjarn is left alone. The quiet is a solace not often afforded to a prisoner of war, so she uses it wisely. Closing her eyes, she breathes deeply, counting the seconds and feeling each breath as it enters her body. She pictures a flame inside of her, flickering and weak, and watches as the oxygen stokes it once more into a brilliant blaze.

She squats down, then rises up once more, using the slack in the ropes that hold her to keep herself in shape. Perhaps it could be considered overkill, but Muspell’s wilds are watered with the blood of the unready.

Only the sound of the door creaking open is enough to rouse her from her solitude.

Princess Fjorm makes her way through the carriage with a gentle smile on her face. Leiptr, Nifl’s magical spear, is slung across her back, stowed in the presence of one of the nation’s greatest enemies. Instead, her hands are filled with two plates.

This too, has become part of the routine.

“Hello.” Fjorm says, her voice with the timbre of wind chimes. “I brought dinner.”

Leaving the dishes on a seat for a moment, Fjorm draws close and reaches for the hook that Laegjarn’s arms are bound to. After some time fighting the ropework, Fjorm untangles and unties a knot, and suddenly her right arm is free once more. It tingles as the blood begins to flow back into it.

“Thank you.” she says, as she has said every night before. 

Their meals are quiet affairs. Laegjarn is unsure why Fjorm, whose mother’s blood is on her father’s hands, treats her this way. She has watched this woman dash herself, in a fury, against her father’s guard, beaten to near death. That rage seems absent now, as she calmly works away at a pile of dried fruit.

The rivalry between their kingdoms is not a new one. For centuries, Nifl and Muspell have been at one another’s throats, on the battlefield or in the throne room, each generation picking up the rusted weapons of the last. 

“Fjorm?”

The princess swallows, glancing up from her food with an eyebrow raised. It is rare that Laegjarn is the one to start the conversation.

“Do you believe this war will end in our lifetime?”

Fjorm’s brow furrows.

“I do. Once we reach my sister, she can give the Summoner the power to defeat Surtr. We will free this world of his tyranny.”

Again, Laegjarn is struck by just how seamlessly Fjorm can transition from gentle tranquility to a stern and determined stance. As she is now, she reminds Laegjarn of her own sister, quiet but indomitable, a steadfast warrior able to accomplish anything.

She wishes Laevatein, too, could smile like Fjorm.

“And…” She hesitates slightly, her eyes set on the dark window ahead. “In such a world, what do you believe will become of we who have known nothing but war?”

For a moment, Fjorm is silent. The moonlight catches Leiptr’s hilt, its long shadow stretching over the both of them. The wind howls outside, its chill biting through Laegjarn’s skin. Finally, Fjorm speaks.

“I would like to believe that you...that we...could find happier lives. Have companions and allies, from both Nifl and Muspell. Live each day without the shadow of death hanging over us. I intend to make that a reality, and when I do…” 

Her expression reverts to that familiar warmth once again.

“I’d like it if you and I could be friends.”

The idea, Laegjarn thought, was laughable. The royalty of Nifl and Muspell have so long been determined to see one another dead. There was no room for understanding, even less for friendship. The feeling was utterly foreign to one like her, born and raised as a blade of her father and King.

Perhaps, she thinks, that is why the idea sticks with her. This impossible, intangible thing rattles in her mind, battering itself against every wall she’s ever erected to protect herself. She pictures a world without this lifelong war, one where her sister can learn to do something other than fight, one where she mustn’t hide civilians from her father’s eyes, one where she can call someone like Fjorm a friend.

For just a moment, she allows herself to believe it.

That changes everything.

“Fjorm.” She looks her companion in the eyes. “I want to help you make such a thing a reality.”

The Niflite smiles.

“Let me out.”

Her grin fades, and her eyes go wide.

“Laegjarn…” she says, in a voice that reveals the rest of the words before they can be said. “I...can’t do that.”

“You have my word, this is no trick.” Laegjarn maintains eye contact, beseeching the other woman to believe her. “I will retrieve your sister and return her to your side.”

Stunned still, Fjorm’s voice is barely a whisper. “But...the rest of my family.”

“I will fly wherever I must. Muspell is open to me, I can assure that no harm comes to them. I will find your family, and my own sister, and together we will end this conflict!” The flame within her is roaring now, uninhibited by the gates that once held her heart.

Again, Fjorm is silent.

“Please. I pledge that this is all I will ever ask of you.”

Rising to her feet, Fjorm is trembling, her half-finished meal forgotten on the floor below.

“I…”

She turns and leaves the carriage. Once more, Laegjarn is alone.

She picks up the blanket on the floor (another of Fjorm’s gifts), lies down, and prepares for another night of restless sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I was just thinking about Laegjarn's dying words, y'know, as you do, and I was once again hit by the line she delivers to Fjorm about choosing different paths in Nifl. I got an idea, and here it is!
> 
> This is planned to be a two (maybe three max) part fic, so don't expect something of Broken Blade length, but I wanted to share what I came up with. Thank you for reading this little opening scene!
> 
> I welcome all feedback, comments always make my day, and I hope very much that you have a wonderful day yourself!


	2. Chapter 2

Laegjarn feels groggy as she is jolted awake. A light sleeper (the better to avoid her father’s rages with), it takes little time to situate herself and assess her surroundings.

She is still in her carriage prison, one arm lashed to the wall. Someone hovers over her, one trembling hand on her shoulder while the other holds something in a white-knuckled grip. The moonlight from the window glints off of the edge of a blade, and Laegjarn leaps to her feet in self-defense.

She is not the fighter her father is, but she refuses to be cut down without a fight.

“Quiet!”

The figure holds their arms up in surrender, and as her eyes adjust to the light, Laegjarn can see that she has once again been visited by Princess Fjorm of Nifl.

“I...I believe you.” Fjorm edges closer, holding a steel sword in plain sight. “I’m setting you free.”

Laegjarn surveys the woman’s face, searching the glints of treachery she has seen in Loki’s eyes, but Fjorm seems to speak true. Laegjarn extends her arm, and with a tiny swing of the blade, Fjorm severs her remaining bonds.

They stand across from one another, not for the first time, but in what feels like an entirely new surrounding. Princess and princess, no aggressor or defender, no captor or captive, but Laegjarn and Fjorm.

Her hand extended, Laegjarn smiles.

“Thank you. I swear, I will not let you down.”

As the two of them creep through the silent camp, Laegjarn can see the Order of Heroes fast asleep all around her. Most have set up tents, with some brazen few (who she assumes must be from frigid worlds) daring to use sleeping bags. It is strange to see these titans of the battlefield, some of whom she has personally watched slay ten of her own troops single handedly, acting so surprisingly human.

It is something that has puzzled her since her captivity began, to watch these warriors talk amongst one another, laughing and behaving in such recklessly casual ways. Their army, such as it is, seems founded on camaraderie, regulations and procedures left on the backburner. It goes against everything she has ever been taught as a general of Muspell. 

Still, their prowess speaks for itself.

She follows Fjorm silently to a ramshackle stable, dozens of animals tied to stakes beneath a long tarp. The creatures sniff and yelp at her presence, everything from horse to wyvern seeming to rouse as they approach. Fjorm holds up a finger as if to shush the beasts, sighing deeply when none of the animals heed her non-verbal cues. She leads Laegjarn to a large black wyvern at the corner of the stable, which puffs air through its nostrils at the sight of them.

“This is Minerva.” Fjorm whispers. She blinks. “Minerva the wyvern.”

Minerva seems to regard Laegjarn with careful scrutiny. No stranger to staring down a wyvern, Laegjarn allows the mount to sniff away at her as Fjorm continues to speak.

“Her rider tells me she’s the sturdiest and fastest mount in the Order. You’ll move fastest with her, but make sure you bring her back. She’s very dear to Cherche.”

“I will allow no harm to befall Minerva.” Laegjarn replies, nodding at the magnificent creature before her. In response, the wyvern huffs once again before lowering its head in her direction. It seems she has won its respect.

As Fjorm moves to unhitch Minerva from her station, the reality of the situation crashes down on Laegjarn. She takes a deep breath, letting the cold night air flow through her. “What will you tell your allies?”

“The truth.” Fjorm sighs as she finishes releasing Minerva. “Alfonse will understand. He sees it, you know. That you are not your father.”

The sentiment brings a smile to Laegjarn’s face as she steps through the snow, taking the wyvern’s reins in her hands. Fjorm reaches for the scabbard at her side and retrieves the steel blade, handing it gently over. Suddenly, her eyes widen.

“Oh no. Your sword-”

“You may keep hold of Niu. See it as my guarantee that I shall return to you.” The replacement weapon is nothing special, a basic weapon through and through, but it will suffice. She hopes to avoid fighting, if at all possible. “What shall I tell your sister when I see her?”

Fjorm’s face softens. “The truth. Tell her you that you’ve come to rescue her, with my blessing. I trust that she, too, will see all the good in you.”

“Very well.” With practiced agility, she mounts the obsidian wyvern, settling into the creature’s saddle and urging it forward. “You have my utmost gratitude, Princess Fjorm. When next we meet, I shall reunite you with your sister, and I will be reunited with mine. Then, we may speak as allies.”

In the faint moonlight, she can just make out Fjorm nodding.

“Perhaps friends?”

Allowing herself this one luxury, Laegjarn nods her head.

“Friends.”

She pulls on the reins, and with a screech, Minerva lifts off of the ground. Airborne once again, Laegjarn feels the familiar rush of soaring upwards, wind in her hair and at her back. She directs the wyvern to hover in the air for a moment, letting her heartbeat settle and thoughts recompose once more.

Then, she sets off on her mission.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trying out shorter chapters for this little story. Next part will be the last.


	3. Chapter 3

She doesn’t know how long she’s been flying when she first sees the outline of a fortress on the horizon. The snows of Snjarhof fall in thick clumps, drenching her hair and arms, but she presses on, goal finally in sight.

The icy architecture of Nifl is breathtaking, even for someone as uncomfortable in the cold as a Muspellian princess. In the early morning light, the building practically shimmers, a beacon to her bleary eyes. Minerva lets out a victorious shriek, likely just as tired as her rider as they approach the air around the palace.

A quick scan of the horizon reveals no guards outside. She had suspected Princess Gunnthra would be keeping a low profile with the speed at which she’d gone into hiding, but the lack of defenses still puts her nerves on edge. Spying a balcony on the fortresses’ upper levels, Laegjarn steers Minerva toward her chosen point of entry.

The balcony door, she finds, is unlocked. Quietly, Laegjarn opens it, gently pushing her way into the fortress halls. The innards of the building are made in typical Niflian fashion, all sharp angles and tightly enclosed spaces. Her footsteps are loud against the polished floor, despite how hard she is trying to be silent. They form a rhythm with the beats of her heart, loud in her ears as the sheer enormity of her situation bears down upon her.

She has done things behind Surtr’s back before, certainly. Her own heart would not have survived her years in his army had she not. But this, to finally slip the leash her birth has settled around her neck, to defy the king of flame himself and attempt to escape unburned, churns her stomach.

And yet, for all the turmoil inside of her, the world around Laegjarn is utterly still. The halls are empty, silent cramped corridors that extend further than she can see. Every shadow could conceal a foe, and yet the peace does more to terrify her than any battle she’s ever fought. 

When she reaches the end of the first hall, an ornamented door stands before her. A slight silver trim surrounds the frame, and most importantly, the faint glow of torchlight creeps out from beneath. Breathing in to center herself, she knocks on the door.

“Come in!”

The voice cut through the silent hall, echoing slightly off the walls. It was gentle, almost somewhat familiar. Steeling her nerves, Laegjarn entes the room.

It was certainly not the kind of place she would expect to find the princess of a decadent land like Nifl. The room was plain, decorated with only the most basic of furnishings, clearly designed with military efficiency in mind. A wooden desk dominated the chamber’s center, neatly arranged stacks of parchment resting upon it.

Sitting behind it is a woman Laegjarn has only ever seen in paintings.

Her rose-colored hair falls in gentle waves down her shoulders, framing a set of delicate features and light-blue eyes. When she looks up from her book to see Laegjarn standing in the doorframe, she leaps to her feet.

The paintings have not done Princess Gunnthra justice.

“Who are you?” From inside her desk, Gunnthra raises a dagger, arm cocked to toss the weapon. “Speak truthfully!”

The sight, admittedly, fails to intimidate Muspell’s general. Gunnthra’s hand is trembling slightly, and it is clear by her stance that the woman before her has never actually tossed a throwing knife. Nevertheless, Laegjarn complies.

“Princess Gunnthra, I am Laegjarn, Crown Princess and General of the Kingdom of Flame.”

Gunnthra, for her part, does not seem overly surprised by the confession. Perhaps, she too, has already heard of her rival in this war.

“What are you doing here?” she asks.

“Your sister, Princess Fjorm, sent me to find you. I intend to bring you to her side, and that of Askr’s Order of Heroes, so that together we might stop my father’s ambitions.”

At Fjorm’s name, Gunnthra’s expression softens. It occurs to Laegjarn that the sisters must have been separated for some time.

“Why would you want to help us?”

“Not everyone in Muspell supports this war, Princess. King Surtr rules through fear and violence, every word a command, every consequence bloody.” She takes another step towards Gunnthra, surprised when the princess doesn’t make one in retreat. “I wish to free my home from his grip, and rescue my sister.”

Gunnthra stands tall now, the dagger still clutched in her fist. “While your offer intrigues me, Princess Laegjarn, how am I to know you make it in good faith? How am I to suspect that right now, Surtr is not waiting for you to bring him his prize?”

This was a question Laegjarn has been expecting. In response, she sinks to her knees, unhooking the scabbard from her waist and allowing it to drop on to the floor.

“I do not begrudge you for being apprehensive, Princess.” She looks up, ensuring to keep eye-contact with Gunnthra as she speaks. “I may offer no material proof of my intentions. All I have to offer is my oath. I swear, Princess Gunnthra, that should you take my hand and join me, I will not rest until this conflict ends. I will work alongside you and your family to rebuild this land, and should you wish me to pay for my transgressions against it, my fate will be in your hands. All that I can offer is the hope for a better future, and I swear to you that I am committed to it.”

She extends a hand towards the waiting woman, who hesitates a moment.

Gunnthra’s hand is cold in Laegjarn’s as she shakes it.

“Show me this future, Princess Laegjarn.”

It takes nearly no time at all for Gunnthra to gather her belongings into a satchel, and together they stand upon the balcony of the fortress. The sun is high in the sky, and the white and grey shapes of western Nifl’s natural beauty stand before them.

When Laegjarn whistles, Minerva rises from below, sending Gunnthra staggering back in surprise.

“She is a well-behaved mount. You need not fear her.” Climbing onto the wyvern’s back, Laegjarn reaches out.

“I...fear I have little experience astride flying creatures.” Gunnthra mutters, the faint red of a blush rising to her face. As Laegjarn helps her into Minerva’s saddle, she wraps her arms around the General’s body.

“Just hold tight to me. I swear that I will not let you down.”

Gunnthra giggles, a light and airy sound. “I will keep close, _my general_.”

With a flap of her mighty wings, Minerva begins to propel herself up and away from the fortress, back into the far-flung peace of Nifl’s morning skies. 

Laegjarn smiles. “I have but one thing to say.”

“Hmm?” comes the voice of the woman clinging to her back.

“Thank you. This was very kind of you.”

Gunnthra shifts in her seat. “I believe you. I know you mean me no harm.”

“No, not that. You see, Princess Gunnthra, this has been amazing.” Laegjarn turns in her seat, smiling warmly at the wonderful woman who is holding onto her. “But I would like to wake up now.”

She closes her eyes.

When they next open, she is in a familiar bed, in a familiar room, the earliest light of morning shining in her window. Laegjarn slowly rises to her feet, stretches, and walks to the door.

The common room of a Heroes' dormitory at Castle Askr awaits, its simple set of furniture in its usual arrangement. A line of paper ghosts, constructed by Ylgr during the recent harvest festival, is gently brushed aside as she walks beneath it.

In the center of the chamber, sitting on a couch with her shoulders sagging and a sheepish smile on her face, is Princess Gunnthra. Her rose-colored hair is disheveled, bags of fatigue hang beneath her eyes, and her robes are slightly stained with grass and sweat.

No portrait has ever done her justice.

“Welcome home from the expedition, Gunnthra.” As Laegjarn approaches, her girlfriend lets out an overacted sigh.

“How did you know?”

“Well...for one thing…” Laegjarn stands before her, counting on her fingers. “While your sister’s kindness cannot be overstated, she was not my only guard. Had I truly tried for a nighttime escape, I’m quite sure Saizo would have put a dagger in my back. Secondly, Minerva is indeed an impressive creature, but she doesn’t let just anyone ride her. And it was quite convenient that no soldiers waited at the fortress for me!” Laegjarn squats, grinning as she finishes her words. “But such logical gaps are common to dreams. No, what gave it away was something else.” 

She leans forward, kissing the tip of Gunnthra’s nose.

“You called me _your general_ , _my princess_.”

Gunnthra laughs, the sparkle returning to her eyes. 

“I do apologize for being too obvious! You were asleep when my carriage got back, and I could tell you were about to have another of your nightmares.”

Over the past few months, Laegjarn knows, Gunnthra has been practicing greater control over the realm of dreams. She is proud that it seems to have paid off.

“Fjorm told me what you two spoke about, before you…Well, I wanted to give you a nice dream for once. You deserve it.”

Laegjarn rises to her full height once again, warmth filling her as she does. “That is very kind of you. But you look exhausted. Does this process take quite a physical toll?”

Gunnthra averts her eyes. Laegjarn sighs, although she is unable to wipe the smile from her face.

“Well, know this. Dreams can be lovely, but I know we cannot know the future, nor change the past. That leaves only the present, and in the present…” 

With a gentle motion, she sweeps an arm under Gunnthra’s knees and one behind her back, lifting her girlfriend into her arms.

“I am happier than I have ever been.”

With tired eyes, Gunnthra smiles, wrapping her arms around Laegjarn’s shoulders and curling tight against the warmth of her chest.

A door creaks open, and a yawning Fjorm steps out, wiping at her eyes with her sleeve.

“Oh! Gunnthra, you’re back!” She waves at her sister with the limited amount of energy she has. “It’s so early in the morning…”

“Fjorm!” Gunnthra shouts, throwing her arms wide.

“You’re correct, Fjorm.” Laegjarn adds, turning towards her and Gunnthra’s room. “That’s exactly why your sister is going to go to bed and get the sleep she needs.”

Gunnthra groans, but does nothing to move from her spot nestled in Laegjarn’s arms. Fjorm smirks.

“Thank you, Laegjarn, for being the sense she needs. I will see you both in the real morning.”

As she carries Gunnthra across the threshold to their bedroom, Laegjarn thinks back on the words from that fateful day. She could have taken a different path, had things worked out another way. The path she has walked has been mired in tragedy, twisted and excruciating, often unfair, sometimes difficult to tread.

She hugs Gunnthra tight to her chest.

But this path has lead her home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's a wrap on this story! I suppose it is no surprise now that yes, this takes place in canon with my other Laegjarn/Gunnthra stories!
> 
> I know "it was a dream!" endings are often frowned upon, but I thought this would be an interesting scenario to explore with Gunnthra's dream powers. I hope very much that you enjoyed reading it!
> 
> Super Secret Author's Notes:  
> \- I always had an ending twist in mind for this story, but it took a very different form at first! The original idea had Laegjarn exit the fortress to find Surtr, who would slay Laevatein in revenge for Laegjarn's disobedience. She'd turn around to find Gunnthra replaced by Hel, who would explain to her that regardless of her choices, she is tinged with death, the world is better off without her, and she deserves her fate. So it was a stealth sequel to "Gone", and part of Hel's attempt to break Laegjarn's resistance and keep her as a servant in the realm of the dead.
> 
> \- But, y'know, I wanted to write something happy. I firmly believe that tragedy has its place, but a joyful ending can also be just as beautiful. So I decided to give Laeg a break from the Angst Zone and let her have little a fluff. As a treat.
> 
> -Gunnthra is very proud of her acting in the fortress. She practiced.
> 
> I hope very much that you enjoyed the story! I tried a few new things with this one, including shorter chapters and a different narration style, and I would love to hear your feedback! Comments make my day, and I would very much welcome you to leave one! I hope that you have a great day!

**Author's Note:**

> So I was just thinking about Laegjarn's dying words, y'know, as you do, and I was once again hit by the line she delivers to Fjorm about choosing different paths in Nifl. I got an idea, and here it is!
> 
> This is planned to be a two (maybe three max) part fic, so don't expect something of Broken Blade length, but I wanted to share what I came up with. Thank you for reading this little opening scene!
> 
> I welcome all feedback, comments always make my day, and I hope very much that you have a wonderful day yourself!


End file.
